While I am convinced that all these things are as stated, I do not
wish to deny that monopolism of a violent kind may and does occur in
love which is merely sensual. In fact, I have expressly classed
monopolism among those seven ingredients of love which occur in its
sensual as well as its sentimental phases. For a correct diagnosis of
love it is indeed of great importance to bear this in mind, as we
might otherwise be led astray by specious passages, especially in
Greek and Roman literature, in which sensual love sometimes reaches a
degree of subtility, delicacy, and refinement, which approximate it to
sentimental love, though a critical analysis always reveals the
difference. The two best instances I know of occur in Tibullus and
Terence. Tibullus, in one of his finest poems (IV., 13), expresses the
monopolistic wish that his favorite might seem beautiful to him only,
displeasing all others, for then he would be safe from all rivalry;
then he might live happy in forest solitudes, and she alone would be
to him a multitude:
Atque utinam posses uni mihi bella videri;
Displiceas aliis: sic ego tutus ero.
Sic ego secretis possum bene vivere silvis
Qua nulla humano sit via trita pede.
Tu mihi curarum requies, tu nocte vel atra
Lumen, et in solis tu mihi turba locis.
Unfortunately, the opening line of this poem:
Nulla tuum nobis subducet femina lectum,
and what is known otherwise of the dissolute character of the poet and
of all the women to whom he addressed his verses, make it only too
obvious that there is here no question of purity, of respect, of
adoration, of any of the qualities which distinguish supersensual love
from lust.
More interesting still is a passage in the _Eunuchus_ of Terence (I.,
2) which has doubtless misled many careless readers into accepting it
as evidence of genuine romantic love, existing two thousand years ago:
"What more do I wish?" asks Phaedria of his girl Thais:
"That while at the soldier's side you are not his, that
you love me day and night, desire me, dream of me,
expect me, think of me, hope for me, take delight in
me, finally, be my soul as I am yours."
Here, too, there is no trace of supersensual, self-sacrificing
affection (the only sure test of love); but it might be argued that
the monopolism, at any rate, is absolute. But when we read the whole
play, even that is seen to be mere verbiage and
affectation--sentimentality,[15] not sentiment. The girl in question
is a common harlot "never satisfied with one lover," as Parmeno tells
her, and she answers: "Quite true, but do not bother me"--and her
Phaedria, though he talks monopolism, does not _feel_ it, for in the
first act she easily persuades him to retire to the country for a few
days, while she offers herself to a soldier. And again, at the end of
the play, when he seems at last to have ousted his military rival, the
latter's parasite Gnatho persuades him, without the slightest
difficulty, to continue sharing the girl with the soldier, because the
latter is old and harmless, but has plenty of money, while Phaedria is
poor.
Thus a passage which at first sight seemed sentimental and romantic,
resolves itself into flabby sensualism, with no more moral fibre than
the "love" of the typical Turk, as revealed, for instance, in a love
song, communicated by Eugene Schuyler (I., 135):
"Nightingale! I am sad! As passionately as thou lovest the
rose, so loudly sing that my loved one awake. Let me die in
the embrace of my dear one, for I envy no one. I know that
thou hast many lovers; but what affair of mine is that?"
One of the most characteristic literary curiosities relating to
monopolism that I have found occurs in the Hindoo drama, _Malavika and
Agnimitra_ (Act V.). While intended very seriously, to us it reads for
all the world like a polygamous parody by Artemus Ward of Byron's
lines just cited ("She was his life, The ocean to the river of his
thoughts, Which terminated all"). An Indian queen having generously
bestowed on her husband a rival to be his second wife, Kausiki, a
Buddhist nun, commends her action in these words:
"I am not surprised at your magnanimity. If wives are kind
and devoted to their husbands they even serve them by
bringing them new wives, like the streams which become
channels for conveying the water of the rivers to the
ocean."
Monopolism has a watch-dog, a savage Cerberus, whose duty it is to
ward off intruders. He goes by the name of Jealousy, and claims our
attention next.